The Graveyard Shift
by Melanie Gracey
Summary: Sort of an older story I dug up (har har) - Oneshot about what goes on in the Haunted Mansion after the park has closed.


**I don't own the Haunted Mansion, obviously.**

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The Graveyard Shift: A Night in the Haunted Mansion

As midnight approached, the Haunted Mansion was silent. All of Disneyland was silent, actually, but the creepy old house was especially quiet. It was an hour and a half after closing time, and Cast Members had already run the last couple of check-ups to make sure the Dining Hall glass had not been defaced again or that the Séance Room was still in one piece. The large white building, usually rather inviting, now looked very hollow and empty, its tall iron gates shut tightly. Outside, crickets chirped in the warm night and the waters in the Rivers of America rippled smoothly. All was still; all was calm…

The show lights in the Haunted Mansion suddenly flicked back on. The abnormally cold air conditioning started up again and the special effects continued running. The Doombuggies did not move, however; they remained still.

Outside the graveyard, the attraction's finale, the skinny caretaker stretched his skinny limbs. He lifted his hat and took out a dog treat. "Here you go, girl," he said, handing it to the perky Basset Hound at his side. The dog let out a breath, making her look nearly healthy rather than starving and thin. Already there was shouting coming from the Graveyard. The caretaker sighed; it would be another long night.

"…and if I ever catch you hitting a flat again, you are out of the band!" the drummer of the graveyard band, who was apparently the leader, was yelling angrily at the flute-playing hunchback, who was huddling over his instrument.

"'Ey, Marty! Give 'im a break, will ya? Y'know his lungs don't work too well." The harpist tried consoling the drummer.

"M-Maybe if Master could find me some…gloves of some sort…" the hunchback started timidly.

"Oh, sure! Ghosts wearing gloves; what a brilliant idea! Maybe we should put on some earmuffs and scarves, while we're at it!"

"The lad's already got 'imself a scarf," the bagpipe player pointed out.

"Well…anyway, he doesn't need them! We're ghosts, for Pete's sake!" the drummer huffed angrily.

"So? Just 'cause we're ghosts don't mean we don't got feelin's!" the harpist said. The hunchback's lower lip began quivering. "Aww; now look what you did!"

Not really wanting to interfere, the caretaker left the band and continued on, passing by the Tea Party. Three ghosts were sitting around a hearse; one was a plump, elderly woman sitting on top of the vehicle; another, apparently the driver, was leaning to the side, whip in hand; the third was the coffin's contents; a thin elderly man sitting in the open coffin and sipping tea.

"Oh, Bill, dear! Do stop by for a cup of tea, won't you?" The elderly woman ghost called from the top of the hearse. The caretaker sighed.

"Oh, don't bother him! He's probably off on some very important business across the graveyard…aren't you, boy?" said the driver.

"Actually, my name's not Bill, and no; I was just checking up on everyone to see how they were doing. Y'know; making the nightly rounds." The caretaker started up the hill.

"Well, you simply must join us for a spot of tea, dear," the woman said, quickly getting him a teacup and the teapot, "even if your name isn't Bill. Do you want me to guess?"

"Um, no, that's all r—"

"Tom? Dick? Harry?"

"No; please. That's really not necessary…but thank you," he took the tea from her.

"Scream or sugar?" the elderly ghost in the coffin asked in a raspy voice, cackling wildly, offering the caretaker some sugar cubes.

"Erm, thanks," the caretaker took it and quickly stirred it into his tea.

"Oh, what a sweet little dog you have!" the woman said, grinning down at the caretaker's dog. "What's _his_ name?" the dog hid behind the caretaker's legs.

"Um…it's a she," the caretaker corrected her.

"Oh," the woman looked confused. "Well, _she's _simply delectable! What is her name?"

"Now, don't go botherin' his dog with that nonsense again!" the driver slapped his forehead. "He's probably already behind schedule; we don't need to go about exchanging niceties! That's just…well, that's just silly!"

"Ooh; you always have to ruin my good mood!" the woman replied, folding her arms and looking cross.

"And you're always ruining others'."

"If I were alive, I'd have half a mind to give you a good talking-to!"

"But the thought train would get a half-hour layover at the How's the Weather station."

"It's really nice seeing you all," the caretaker interjected, "but I should be heading on. Have to, y'know…check on the rest of the graveyard, and then the house." He swigged the tea down and hurried on down the hill.

"Now, see that? Y'done scared him away!" the driver ghost said.

"That couldn't've been me! In any case, have a pleasant evening, dear! Don't be a stranger – and bring your little doggy back; I'm sure she's a lovely conversationalist!"

The caretaker jumped across the Doombuggy chasm, meeting the Singing Busts on the other side. "How're you all doing tonight?" he asked. As usual, they didn't give him a straight answer.

"'Ey; move it! We don' need the likes'a yer ugly face around here!"

"Would you mind propping me back up? My neck is killing me!"

"Get me a hat; it's like twenty in here!"

"Go get my reading; I have to find out if Edward and Bella's epic romance goes anywhere!"

"Hey, you! Yeah, you, skinny man! Get me some toast; I like toast!"

"Good to see you all, too." The caretaker went on to meet the ghosts at the crypt. The unusually high-voiced executioner and the beheaded knight appeared to be in deep discussion.

"Oh, hello, Phil! I was wondering where you were this evening," the executioner greeted him kindly.

"Um…again, not my name, but good evening to you all, anyhow. I hope you're all doing well?"

"We are, but…I don't wish to be a bother, or anything, but…well, it's just that—"

"I have'ta file a complaint!" the knight's severed head exclaimed, whirling around in his hand. The decapitated body showed an angry fist, unable to talk for itself.

"What about?" the caretaker asked.

"Well…" the executioner fiddled with the key on the ring in his hands, "you see, just as the ride was closing, and the last guests were headed out, the knight spotted…well, we saw –"

"There were some teenagers practically havin' a go at it!" the knight finished for the him. "Makes me sick, havin' to look at 'em neckin' and feelin' each other up. When I was a youngin', that kinda stuff was outlawed on several continents!"

"Sorry; that kind of stuff I can't do much about," the caretaker shrugged. "If teenagers want to degrade themselves, there are easier ways to do it."

"Yer supposed to be the caretaker, yeh dolt!" the knight sputtered angrily. "I can't keep the bloody song in my head when I see that kind of garbage going on in such a place of prestige as this!"

The caretaker sighed. "I'll talk to the management."

"Good. Now get yer dog off my leg!" the knight's body was brushing away the caretaker's dog, who was sitting patiently, though awkwardly, on his foot.

"Well, have a nice evening, sir!" the executioner waved to him, smiling warmly.

Suddenly, there was a light tap on the caretaker's shoulder. Actually, it was more of a heavy pull. He turned around to see it was the plump, female Opera-Singing Ghost. "Excuse me for bothering you, monsieur caretaker, but for lo these many nights that we have inhabited this dreadful graveyard, you have neglected to compliment my and my brother's aesthetically pleasing voices!"

"Erm…sorry; I've been busy."

"Well, I think you can make time for us now! Come, dear brother! This is one soul we have not lifted with our voices!" a smaller, meeker ghost popped up from behind her, twisting his hands nervously. The female ghost suddenly let out a loud, high note that made the caretaker's ears ring and his dog hide behind him again, tail between her legs. The male ghost joined in, although he apparently couldn't follow his sister but tried his best anyway. After several sets of scales and an aria, the female ghost recomposed herself.

"Well?" she grinned anxiously at the caretaker. He looked flustered.

"W-Well…you two certainly have your own…um, your own…"

"Style? Flair? Method? Of course we do!" she finished happily for him. "You see, my brother and I have tried to bring this desolate plot of land some much-needed culture, although many do not appreciate the true art of opera as you do! I thank you, kind sir, for your input!"

"Um…Hildegarde? He didn't even finish his…you know, his sentence…" the little male opera ghost said meekly.

"But his meaning was there, of course, dear Alfonse!" she replied. "And as long as we get his meaning, who knows where these talents of ours could take us! Today, a musty little cemetery; tomorrow, the Old Vic!"

The caretaker went across the chasm again, meeting with the tea-drinking mummy and the deaf elderly man. Now the elderly man was leaning on the tomb behind him, smoking a corncob pipe and apparently chuckling at the mummy.

"…and when I woke up, my coffin was open and I had a cup of nice, hot tea in my hands! Isn't that incredible?" the mummy was looking at the elderly ghost in wonder.

"It sure is," he replied, grinning.

"Good evening, sir; mummy," the caretaker cut in. "Are you two doing all right this evening?"

"Sure are!" the elderly ghost said energetically.

"Oh; hello, young man! I don't believe we've met," the mummy said with a glazed look in his eyes.

"Hee hee! Senile ole fool; can't even remember last week!" the elderly ghost snorted. "Keeps goin' on about how awful a place the afterlife is."

"And smelly, too! What is that; mould? Rust?" the mummy sniffed. "Yes; it must be some kind of incense. Osiris would never let it smell so foul!"

The caretaker sighed. "Okay, mummy, I'm going to explain this to you again: you're not dead. Well, you kind of are, but…not really. You're still in the real world, in a fake graveyard in a haunted-house attraction in a theme park built for families, but really for money. You're not in the afterlife; you're in the real world. Well, as real as a Disney park's ever going to get. Clear?"

The mummy just smiled at him for several minutes, not answering. The elderly ghost just howled.

"No use, son! Poor fool's brains dried up ages ago."

"Well…at least he remembers the song. That's what's important." The caretaker replied.

"_When the crypt doors creak and the tombstones quake_ – " the mummy blurted out mechanically.

"Very good, mummy." The caretaker patted him on the shoulder.

"So, that's all we're good fer is singin' one lousy song?" the elderly ghost looked angry. "I got my corpse dragged all the way from the great nation of Texas fer _this_?"

"And it bothers you? You've been singing the same song for thirty-nine years."

The elderly ghost looked baffled. "Crimeny! Has it been that long?"

"Yep," the caretaker nodded. "Now, if you don't mind, I still need to check how the Hitchhiking Ghosts and Little Leota are doing." He edged back down the hill.

"Well, good-bye, whoever you were! What a nice fellow; hope he visits us again." The mummy waved, taking back the teacup that he had let the caretaker's dog drink out of. "Now, before I forget: Who are you?" The old man just chuckled.

As the caretaker was headed into the crypt, the red-eyed raven over the entrance squawked at him. He scowled.

"Well, what's _your_ issue? Not enough places to poop on?"

"Caw! Caw! More food; more food! Caw!" the raven screeched. The caretaker sighed and pulled a small bag of birdfeed out of his hat, tossing it up to the bird, who grabbed it mid-toss and quickly ripped it open, scarfing it down.

"I hope he chokes on it," the caretaker muttered, heading into the Crypt. The Hitchhiking Ghosts were now sitting in their little alcove instead of trying to get a ride; two were playing cards, the other was sitting on his ball and chain, biting his fingernails.

"Hey there, Sam! How ya doin'?" Ezra, the skinny ghost, waved. "Took you long enough to get here."

"Okay; does nobody in this house know my name?" the caretaker sighed, frustrated. "It's Dick."

"Well, that figures, doesn't it?" Phineas, the round ghost, grinned. Ezra cackled.

Dick frowned. "Anyway, there are other ghosts around here, in case you haven't noticed."

"Actually, I didn't," Ezra sniffed. "They're not famous like we are."

"Yeah. Get me a churro; I'm hungry!" Phineas exclaimed, pointing to the exit.

"You're always hungry, you oinker!" Ezra said. "If you ate any more, you couldn't fit in the crypt!"

"Besides, aren't you a ghost? You don't really need to eat," Dick added.

"Oh, none of you know how to take a joke!" Phineas complained. "Oh; and…go fish."

Ezra picked up another card. "Got any…Jacks?"

"Nope; go fish." He picked another card.

Dick stood there awkwardly for a moment. "Well, if there's nothing else, I guess I'll get going, then. Got the whole rest of the house to check."

"Aww; so soon? We were gonna invite you to join our game," said Phineas, scratching Dick's dog behind the ears.

"Yes; I can't sit around doing nothing, like you guys. Disney expects me to do my job." Dick edged around the Doombuggies again and started inspecting the mirrors, making sure the prop Hitchhiking Ghosts were still safe behind them.

"Well, be sure to bring yourself and your amusing name back sometime; we'd love the company!" Ezra called. Dick felt a tug on his pant leg. Gus, the scruffy-looking ghost, was standing at his side.

"What?" Dick asked, confused. Gus eagerly pointed to the exit ramp. "I can't let you leave on your own; it's against policy." Gus waved his hands quickly. He put his hands together like he was holding a bouquet and made a sweeping gesture down his back. "Oh; you want to see Little Leota. Okay, then…you could've said so."

Dick started up the ramp, his dog quickly coming back to him. Gus tottered along behind them, struggling under the weight of his ball and chain.

"Sure could go for a churro, though!" Phineas called after them. "Yep; wouldn't mind havin' one of them churros, y'know, being crispy and sweet, and stuff…"

"Hurry ba-ack…hurry ba-ack…" Little Leota, the small bride figure, was still reciting. Dick pressed a button on a remote control in his pocket and the moving ramp stopped. "Oh; hello, Dick!" she giggled. "How are you this evening?"

"I'm fine, L.L.," he replied, nodding. "Just making the usual rounds."

"I see that," she grinned. Or what Dick guessed was a grin; it was hard to tell from the distance. "Are the spooks behaving themselves?"

"Pretty much. Usual bunch of whiners, though, always complaining about something or other."

"That's too bad," Little Leota said. "They just need to learn to enjoy themselves; they're in Disneyland, for goodness' sake."

"Boy; for a little girl, you sure are mature," said Dick.

"Why thank you," she nodded. "Someone in this dump has to be."

"Now, L.L., be careful. You know how insane Disney's been lately about making bad renovations to their rides. They just might replace you with a little Hannah Montana tomorrow, if you're not careful."

"Aaaagh!" Little Leota screamed. "That _is_ scary."

"Well, I need to get going, but Gus here wanted to visit you." Gus was shyly hiding behind Dick's legs; Dick tried to get him in front. He waved.

"Hello there," Little Leota said sweetly. "Have we met?"

"I…I don't think so," Gus replied. He twisted his beard. "But I was wonderin', if…y'know, you weren't busy later, if, y'know, you wanted to, maybe…goonStarTourswithme?" He put his hands over his ears, grimacing.

Little Leota just laughed. "Of course I would, Mr. Gus," she said. "But first I need to get out of this crypt! Dick, if you would be so kind…"

"Oh; sure." Dick leaned way over, unlocking a small, hidden gate. Little Leota crawled out and Dick helped her on to the ramp. He pressed the button again and they all headed outside.

"What a lovely evening this is!" Little Leota declared, dancing down the street, Gus trying his best to keep up. Dick just smiled watching them run off down the street toward Frontierland, but soon remembered how much work he still had to do. Just another night working in the Haunted Mansion…


End file.
